


Cacophony

by FlysWhumpCenter (TheDarkFlygon)



Series: Theatro Mundi (BTHB 2) [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Abstract, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drabble, Gen, Hallucinations, POV Third Person, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 17:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/FlysWhumpCenter
Summary: Nothing around him makes sense.





	Cacophony

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just gotta write for a bro's original husbando.
> 
> Written for my (second) Bad Things Happen Bingo card!  
https://morbusaegraquescribo.tumblr.com/post/186951923331/here-is-your-new-card-for-bad-things-happen-bingo  
Prompt: Hallucinations + James
> 
> It's short, yes. It's vague, yes. It's probably not worth my friendo, absolutely.  
But it's a cool combination I've never thought of, and while it's short, I really like the approach I took for this one. I love writing weird, abstract stuff in a shotgun-like style for some reason, so this was strangely a blast to write! It's really, really vague and abstract though, almost impossible to understand or enjoy, I'm afraid  
I hope my friendo (whom I'll not out considering he's asked for this on anon) likes it anyway though!
> 
> also I think this is the right James? I forgot to ask for precisions tsktsk

The first thing that comes to his eyes are abstract, nonsensical shapes and colours that hurt his brain. His arms are tempted to fight against them, but they feel lethargic and don’t move at all, no matter how much he’s pushing for them to do so. It hurts to try and move them, in fact, but he still insists until what little energy he has is wasted in the effort.

His head is heavy, congested, with shards of thoughts floating around confusedly, without any order or logic to them. His eyes are sore and don’t open much, sight blurry and nothing around him makes any shred of sense. Nothing about his body is doing any better than broken machinery in great need for maintenance and fixing, yet he cannot provide it himself, and it seems like there’s nobody around to help him do so.

Speaking of which, where are Jessie and Meowth? Did they leave the camp? He cannot hear them. He should be able to hear her snores and his footsteps as he makes up new plans to get something and finally earn the rise they’ve deserved for years by now. It’s eerie not to hear them at all, no matter how much he tries to focus his hearing on the sound around him, no matter how much it hurts to do when his head is nothing more than a bomb about to explode on him if he doesn’t find a way to deactivate it as quickly as possible.

He has no recollection of what’s happened until now. Aside from basic information like his identity and his friends’, he can’t remember anything of substance. It’s as blurry on the inside of his skull than it is on the outside: vague shapes which are attempting to speak to him with words or with cries, and some of them invoke something within him that isn’t just migraine-inducing confusion. He swears he can see a hand before it swirls into a spiral with no meaning, swears he’s spotted a leaf until it turns to a monster threatening to bite him; but the jaw and its ferocious teeth disappear as soon as they’ve appeared, and he’s left wondering if everything ever was real.

Sound finally comes to his ears, but it’s far from soothing. It’s static, at first, not unlike a broken radio calling for help. The voices of his friends are still missing, and he hopes to hear them at last when the radio tunes into clearer frequencies; yet the pain remains, his heart keeps getting heavier, and instead, he hears unwelcome voices.

His parents are speaking to him now. He doesn’t know how they’ve found him, in their tent, or how they got around his friends who should’ve have been guarding their improvised camping site. Maybe Jessie and Meowth have left him in the wild? That’d be a terrible thing to do that he’d also never forgiven them for. Or, because he trusts them more than that, they’ve left to recover something, or because the kids have tried arresting them again (maybe they’ve even finally caught Pikachu while he was here doing who knows what, he doesn’t even know himself, that’d be _slick_); and that’s when his parents somehow slipped.

Their blurry faces appear before him, unintelligible yet familiar, their snares looking right at him while he’s most likely at his worse. Their words can’t be translated into anything a human understands, yet they still hurt, as if he could tell what they’re saying when he really can’t even tell what language they’re attempting to speak in. Maybe their voice alone suffices to cause him pain now, like the cold wind slipping under clothing when you thought you had enough on you to withstand the negatives temperatures.

Suddenly, as he’s about to cry from not understanding the world and the words, two familiar faces break out from the weird shapes and the painful voices, the familiar features of his partners in crime radiating through the colourful darkness as his parents disappear from sight. They look worried, sweat all over their faces, and he wonders why they look like they’re in such a great panic; but he’s happy and relieved to see them at last, so he doesn’t ask anything.

Turns out it was just Rafflesia spores all along, Jessie and Meowth explain in a blur due to their voices butting against each other all the time.

But it’s kind of hard to understand when he’s getting hugged from both sides.


End file.
